


Winter

by cranperryjuice



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranperryjuice/pseuds/cranperryjuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baby food and curling flames. A quiet little vignette from Rick's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Important: This HAD to get out of me but I've only watched the show up to about 3/4ths of the third season, so I've made the risky assumption that the main characters go back on the road and that the following winter will be skipped over, much like the previous one was. I'm probably wrong, but there you go. This story happens during that fictional post-Season 3 winter.

Rick wakes up to an urgent intake of breath close to his ear. Judith moans unhappily, then takes another breath, and a quiet, sleepy "fuck" floats over from the front seat as she really gets going. They've been running on empty for weeks now, supplies dangerously low, sleep-deprived and spread too thin between scavenging for gas and food and fighting off the walkers drawn to Judith's hungry cries like moths to a flame.

Carl shifts in the front seat but Rick sits up, deciding to spare him. "I got it." He opens the car door and peers out. The only walkers around -- for now -- are the three they smashed into the asphalt before settling down for the night. He scoops up Judith and walks around to the trunk, her cries loud enough to cover up the crunching of snow under his boots.

"Shh, shh." Not that that's ever worked. He rubs the sleep from his eyes with his free hand, then opens the trunk and grabs a plastic spoon and a jar of baby food at random from their rapidly diminishing stash.

Judith cries on as he looks around. Still nothing. The one silver lining of this empty road to nowhere he led his group to is that walkers are as scarce as lootable supplies are. He spots Daryl's camp, a lone flicker of light at the base of a large pine tree, and sets off toward it for lack of other ideas. Walking helps more than fussing over her, anyway -- probably something about the steady motion or the shock of the crisp night air.

Daryl's sitting with his feet near the fire, stretched out on the pelt of a large shepherd dog they ran into a couple of weeks ago. Merle still has greenish shadows around one eye from his grinning suggestion that Glenn cook it for them. They went to bed on full stomachs that night, though.

"Little Asskicker too busy asskickin' to get any sleep?" Daryl smiles faintly and scoots over to make room for him.

"Something like that." He sits down cross-legged, ignoring his growling stomach, and sets wriggling Judith down on his lap. At least the girls bundled her up well enough for the night that she can't move around much.

The smooth puree turns out to be chicken vegetable -- not Judith's favorite, but she eats. Rick steals the last spoonful and finds it marginally better than the lasagna-flavored jar he ate for dinner along with his meager portion of applesauce. Baby food is, ironically, more or less all they have left.

"Still hungry, huh?" Daryl produces his ratty bandanna and leans closer to wipe Judith's face. "Bet she is, too." His eyes scan the snow-lit night around them for a moment, then he grabs onto Rick's shoulder and pushes himself to his feet. "You stay here."

He disappears into the woods, yawning, and Rick looks up at the sky, listening absent-mindedly to the fading crunch-crunch of his footsteps. The Milky Way's always visible now, streaking the starry sky with purple and blue. It makes him feel that much more insignificant. He looks down at Judith, tired-looking and wrapped in scavenged clothes and blankets, and starts telling her about the few constellation he knows.

He's run out of them by the time Daryl comes back with the sweet smell of decay on him and one corner of his poncho spattered black. There's a dead squirrel in his hand, though, speared on one of his hand-whittled bolts, and he shoots Rick a small, satisfied smile as he sits down again. "Think she'll eat some?"

"Maybe." It's been touch-and-go, with her spitting out most of the solid food they've managed to scrounge up. Rick thinks of the dwindling stacks of little jars in the trunk of his car and, for the hundredth time this week, wishes for a blender. Maybe she'd eat meat, then, and Daryl would stop frowning at her every time she rejects the offerings he's been leaving at Rick's feet like a proud tomcat.

Rick almost laughs at that mental image and watches Daryl prop the gutted, skewered squirrel over the fire. "You don't have to do all that for her."

"She's yours, I want to." Daryl's voice cracks and dies away as if he regrets speaking, and his eyes fix themselves resolutely on the dancing flames in front of them. Rick feels like he's been punched in the chest.

"Yeah, well." He sucks in some air, knuckles whitening in the bundle of clothes on his lap. "Don't go off on your own like that, 's too dangerous."

Daryl nods once, his mouth a thin line. Judith is getting sleepy now that she's full. She'll spit out the squirrel meat, yet again, and yet again Daryl will refuse to eat and feed his kill to Rick instead. It all seems so fucking _obvious_ , suddenly, and Rick wants to scream. Shake Daryl by the shoulders and ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing with his squirrels and rabbits and the palpable _sadness_ that's clung to him like walker blood for months.

He chases the thought away with a twitch of his head. Judith's eyes are closed, now. "She's asleep, I should--"

Daryl catches the sleeve of his jacket before he can even move to stand. "Listen," he starts, then stops and shakes his head, eyes skittering everywhere Rick isn't. The road, the silent cars, the snow-dusted trees in the distance. Rick sighs. Judith cradled safely in one arm, he throws the other around Daryl's shoulders, then pulls him close until his face is pressed into Rick's neck.

Daryl exhales slowly, his breath puffing up at the edge of Rick's vision. He's pleasantly solid against him and Rick could swear Lori's there across the road, brains blown out but still walking, her mouth twisted in disapproval. He closes his eyes. Daryl's fingers curl into the crook of his knee, ice-cold, and settle there.

"They already think I'm going crazy," Rick mutters, somehow wrenching a laugh out of himself. What a sight he must be with his too-small daughter on his knee and lovesick Daryl pressed against him. He can just imagine Merle's face. Hershel's Bible verses. Lori's--

"You kinda were for a while there." Daryl's beard tickles him. Rick turns his head and his mouth brushes against Daryl's hair, against his forehead, down the bridge of his nose. Their breaths mingle for a moment, and a white flare travels down Rick's spine as Daryl closes the distance between them. He kisses like the curling flames at their feet, warm and gentle even as his fingertips dig painfully into Rick's leg. His tongue seems to ease the cold, grinding ache in Rick's bones. He _is_ going crazy.

"Dad?"

His stomach lurches and he opens his eyes, Daryl going ramrod-straight next to him. Carl is standing in the snow, halfway between them and the car. Rick clears his throat. "Yeah?"

Carl approaches, stiff, his face shadowed by the brim of his hat. He's like one of the walking dead now, a small stranger who stood in the prison courtyard and watched him scream and weep with a terrible emptiness behind his eyes that hadn't been there before. "I'm gonna take Judith back to the car."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

Carl picks up Judith gently without looking at him, emanating _traitortraitortraitor_ with every fiber of his being. He walks away, shushing his sister, and his eyes catch the firelight like shards of flint when he throws a glance over his shoulder. "Squirrel's burning."

"Shit!" Daryl jumps to his feet, kicking the stick off the fire. Rick snuffs out the flames and stars and Daryl behind the heels of his hands and tries to breathe around the suffocating guilt that's wrapped itself around his ribcage.


End file.
